Carnival Cavalcade Wrestling
CCW Chaos, episode #2: The Cost of Success
In the commissioner’s office…
Commissioner Hollander is at his needlessly large desk, drumming his fingers on the edge. Deputy Commissioner Jules Moreno, Wink McLean, and CCW senior official Jack Blake stand in a semi-circle opposite him.
Hollander, brow furrowed, stares at Jules.
HOLLANDER: “Bring The Pack in the arena, you said. Make them wrestle actual matches, you said. Our girls will beat them, humble them, you said. Christ, we even put two of them through a Rodeo Queen Challenge and all that’s happened is they have a new… (his hand wanders the air, trying to find the word) guru, or whatever. And who knows what their next step will be. What I want to know is what’s our next step going to be?”
McLean, tuxedoed and coiffed as always but without a mic, raises his hand as though he’s facing a firing squad.
MCLEAN: “Uh, commissioner? What am I doing here?”
HOLLANDER: “You’re on the production end of this operation, McLean, at least a little. No one in the truck knows how The Pack hacked our TV feed last week. Do you?”
McLean shrugs.
MCLEAN: “I’m just here talking to people. I don’t really have that kind of-”
JULES: “Wink, that’s not really why we asked you here. (she side-eyes the commissioner) We want to know who this new Pack leader is and, as our roving reporter, we’d like you to lead that investigation.”
McLean straightens, smooths his hair.
MCLEAN: “I see. (he nods) Yes, I can do that. I will do that. It’s a great story.”
JULES: “All right, well, you should get started.”
McLean nods to both commissioners and heads out. Moreno turns to Hollander and Blake.
JULES: “He’s supposed to interview Betty Magnum tonight. I feel like, if The Pack is going to strike, it’s going to be then.”
HOLLANDER (shrugs): “Okay, so what do we do about it?”
The commissioner looks from Moreno to Blake and back. Both avoid his gaze. He throws up his hands.
HOLLANDER: “Great...”
In the arena…
Tiffany Green is already in the ring for the opening match of the evening, having just notched her first win last week as part of the group that defeated The Pack in an eight-woman tag-team match. Her visible abs a bit more defined, her muscled arms a bit more pumped, Tiffany gets loose in her corner, determined, ready to go.
The Tale of the Tape
Tiffany Green is 27, 5’7”, 140lbs, with black hair and brown eyes. She wrestles in a green-camo bra top, black athletic leggings with white stripes down the sides, and two-tone black & white boxing shoes. Tiffany is an underneath girl with an 1-5 record. BRICKHOUSE, a brawling star, is 28, 5’9”, 160lbs, with dyed dark-red hair and green eyes. Her record is 14-4, one of the best in the company. She wrestles in a black, sleeveless bodysuit with a brick pattern down the front and red & black boots.
Ring announcer Jimmy Swift introduces BRICKHOUSE, who’s fresh off a loss in last week’s Four-Way Elimination Match for the CCW title. She was eliminated by The Iron Maiden, so, as she stomps up the ring steps, it’s not Tiffany Green she sees in the opposite corner.
Referee Roger Clayton calls for the bell.
BRICKHOUSE vs. Tiffany Green
BRICKHOUSE strides across the ring, but Tiffany meets her halfway and starts throwing punches, along with some forearms and elbows. It’s a continuous assault, and BRICKHOUSE has to cover-up to fend the Oakland girl off.
Tiffany seizes the opportunity and — with technique we haven’t seen but strength we knew she had — scoops BRICKHOUSE up and bodyslams her hard to the canvas. Staying in motion, Tiffany hits the ropes and drops an elbow on BRICKHOUSE’s chest, kips-up, then drops a leg on the same spot. She goes for the cover, laying across the big brawler’s chest and holding her far arm down.
1…
BRICKHOUSE kicks out hard enough to flip Tiffany onto her backside. She scrambles to her feet and squares off with the big brawler anew…her eyes just a bit wider than before.
Tiffany moves in for another assault with her rights and lefts, but the taller BRICKHOUSE cuts her off with a sharp boot to the abs, and returns Tiffany’s bodyslam to her, but harder.
“Ahhhhh…ahhhh…” Tiffany, leaning on one elbow, back arched, pumps her fist, trying to get her wind back.
BRICKHOUSE pulls Tiffany up by her head, shoves her into the corner, and batters her beautiful jawline and toned chest with forearms and reverse elbows. Tiffany sags, arms over the top rope, as the referee warns BRICKHOUSE to get her out of the corner. The big brawler softens up Tiffany’s abs with some piledriver punches of her own, then whips the Oakland girl hard into the opposite corner.
Winded, bruised, Tiffany can’t recover before BRICKHOUSE crushes her in the corner with a huge clothesline. Eyes rolling, arms dangling at her sides, Tiffany staggers out of the corner and into the big brawler’s waiting arms.
BRICKHOUSE easily hosses Tiffany up into position, parades her around as the Oakland girl groans, and plants her in the center of the ring with a huge running powerslam.
BRICKHOUSE leans across Tiffany’s chest and holds her far arm down at the bicep. Eyes closed, mouth open, Tiffany can only lie on the mat and lose as the referee counts her shoulders down at 2:42.
BRICKHOUSE’s easy win here makes her 15-4. Despite an early flurry, Tiffany drops to 1-6.
BRICKHOUSE poses with her boot on Tiffany’s heaving chest, gets her glory — and her boos — then heads back up the ramp.
In the underneath locker room…
Melora O’Brien, already in her ring gear, and Riley Slade, in street clothes — her ring gear with flip-flops on — sit on the long, worn bench away from the lockers.
In the corner next to the little rusty chair, Sunny Austin, always barefoot, always bikinied, leans her back against the wall, feet together. Straddling Sunny’s legs, hands wandering along her slim waistline, Cassie Rae, in street clothes — a tight, white tank, low-rise jeans, and flat, strappy sandals — smiles up into Sunny’s eyes.
CASSIE: “Mmmm, this beautiful girl…”
Sunny’s eyes get all dreamy, her hear tilts back against the paint-peeling wall.
SUNNY: “Love your touch…”
Cassie’s hands slide down along Sunny’s sides, over her hips, and settle flat against her toned belly.
CASSIE: “Got to talk business for a sec.”
Sunny’s hands encircle Cassie’s wrists and pull Cassie’s hands tighter against her stomach, but her eyes refocus. She gives Cassie a nod.
CASSIE: “When I wrestled her, Hannah Hammer pinned me with one move, her finisher. (she strokes Sunny’s stomach with her thumbs) So you have to avoid that, obviously. But I learned, and Anna Konda proved last week, Hannah’s legs and hips are where you can weaken her. (her hands slide from Sunny’s belly to her lithe, muscly thighs) And that’s where these come in.”
Sunny smiles, her hands caressing Cassie’s bare shoulders.
SUNNY: “You’re making it hard to concentrate, but I hear you. It’s just… (she squeezes Cassie’s shoulders, looks down between them) Konda’s the only one who’s beaten Hannah. I’m not sure I- (Cassie kisses her chest) Oh god…Cass.”
CASSIE: “Can you give her a match? Can you make your case to win?”
Cassie kisses Sunny’s chest again. Then her neck. Sunny, eyes closed, head back against the wall, shivers.
SUNNY: “Yes, I can. (she moans as Cassie’s mouth finds her ear) I will. I promise.”
Their eyes level, Cassie smiles into Sunny’s swimmy gaze.
CASSIE: “Perfect.”
Sunny, arms dangling, a little weak-kneed, gives Cassie Some Look.
SUNNY: “Kiss me…”
Smiling, hands back on Sunny’s waist, Cassie moves in but the door slams, startling them.
Melora is gone, and Riley, on her feet near the bench, wrings her hands.
Cassie and Sunny straighten from the wall, adjusting their clothing. Sunny nods at the door.
SUNNY: “Melora’s got Iron Maiden tonight. She’s probably scared to death.”
CASSIE: “Yeah. I should probably-”
SUNNY: “I’ll go. (she fixes Cassie with a sly smile) I should be alone for a while before my match, anyway.
Cassie nods, returning the smile.
Sunny leaves the locker room, nodding at Riley as she passes. Cassie sidles up to Riley, who welcomes her with a warm smile.
CASSIE: “Melora’s nervous?”
RILEY: “Yeah. Real nervous. And it sucks because I don’t know what to tell her.”
CASSIE: “You’re 19, (she bumps Riley with her hip, smiling) you’re not supposed to know anything yet.”
RILEY: “Thanks. (she returns the bump and the smile) Is Sunny gonna win tonight? I know she wants a singles win so bad.”
Cassie wanders to the dirty mat near the bench.
CASSIE: “Probably not. (she takes one of her sandals off) I think Hannah is still a bit too much for her. But Sunny is gonna upset someone soon. She’s getting too good not to. (she pulls off the other sandal off and steps onto the mat) Now come here, you. I want to show you how to reverse some basic holds, and then I’m gonna teach you the arm drag.”
Riley, her face one big grin, steps back out of her flip-flops.
In the arena…
Teresa Salazar is already in the ring for the next match, her fourth in CCW. The first three have ended in defeat, the last two ended with her pinned under the winner’s boot. Even with her abs still sore from those matches, Teresa is calm and determined in her corner, her breathing even.
The Tale of the Tape
Teresa Salazar is an underneath girl with an 0-3 record. She is 44, 5’8”, 135lbs, with brown hair and brown eyes. She wrestles in a backless, blood-red singlet, cut high over her hips, black knee pads, and black boots with a blood-red flame pattern embroidered in them. All-American Amy Steel, one of CCW’s biggest stars, enters with a record of 10-3. She is 26, 5’8”, 160lbs, with dirty-blonde hair and blue eyes. She wrestles in a garish, patriotic-themed bra top with matching short shorts, knee pads, and boots.
Jimmy Swift introduces Amy Steel, who, despite being eliminated first in last week’s CCW Championship match — pinned by her arch rival, The Iron Maiden — strolls down the aisle looking even tempered and unaffected by the taunts and jeers from the crowd.
Steel rolls into the ring and snatches Swift’s mic.
STEEL: “So, from the sound of it, you’re all happy I got pinned first in the championship match last week.”
They are, and they cheer accordingly.
Teresa tries not to smile.
STEEL: “Yeah, well, enjoy that while you can, peons, because, starting tonight, I am going to prove I am the best professional wrestler in this company. Not some brute like The Iron Maiden, not some lucky hayseed like your new champion; the best…wrestler. And my first step (she pivots to face Teresa) is making an example out of you. (she grins) You’re gonna wish you never crossed the border, honey.”
Steel flips the mic over the top to Swift, who fumbles it against his chest.
Referee Clark Sierra calls for the bell.
All-American Amy Steel vs. Teresa Salazar
Up on the balls of her feet, hands up, fingers wiggling, Teresa circles out of her corner.
Steel, grinning, is more strolling than circling.
STEEL: “OOoo, you gonna wrestle me? You ready to wrestle an All-American, senorita?”
TERESA: It’s senora, and you fucking bet am I. (she grins at Steel, eyebrows cocked) Gringa.”
Steel’s grin disappears. She lunges at Teresa for a lock-up, which Salazar immediately turns into a side headlock. Steel shoves Salazar into the ropes, but Teresa ducks the clothesline on the rebound, hits the ropes again, leapfrogs over Steel’s attempted backdrop, hits the ropes again, and counters Steel’s hip toss into one of her own.
The crowd eats it up.
Seething, Steel scrambles up and hits the ropes herself, but Teresa drops down and, when Steel hits the opposite strands, takes her over with a high monkey flip. Steel lands flat on her back with a thud and a grunt.
Teresa hits the ropes, but Steel flips onto her stomach, trying to get Teresa to float over. Teresa stops just short of Steel and drops a hard elbow on the Star-Spangled Monster’s back.
With the crowd cheering continuously, Steel scrambles up, snarling, only to get poked in the eye by Teresa, who ducks the wild right hand that follows, gets behind Steel, and takes her over to the canvas, shoulders first, with a back suplex.
Rather than try for a pin, Teresa rolls to her feet and gets ready. Sure enough, Steel charges the moment she regains her feet. Teresa ducks the clothesline and, at 5’8”, same as Steel, blasts her in face with a standing dropkick that sends Amy headlong over the top rope and to the concrete floor.
Pausing to give Teresa an impressed look, referee Clark Sierra moves to the ropes to begin counting Steel out of the ring.
On the floor, Amy uses the apron to drag herself to her feet and smashes it with both forearms. She points up at Teresa.
STEEL: “You’re ruining this!”
Shrugging, Teresa shakes her head.
TERESA: “And I’m not even sorry.”
With the referee’s count at four, Steel slides back in on her stomach, then pops up, ready for another tie-up. Teresa obliges, and it’s Steel who grabs the side headlock this time, grinding it in. Trying not to scream from the tremendous pressure of Steel’s thick, muscled arms, Teresa twists her hips just enough to be able to slam her boot onto Steel’s instep.
Yowling, the Star-Spangled Monster staggers back and Teresa drills a standing side kick into her chiseled abs. Steel reels back into the corner and sags there.
Rushing to the opposite corner, Teresa works a beautiful back handspring elbow…but Steel catches her in both arms and marches her to the center of the ring.
Teresa wraps her arm around Steel’s head, twists her hips, and uses all her weight to pull Amy off her feet and all the way to the mat with a side headlock take over. She releases and rolls back to her feet, ready to keep wrestling.
On the canvas, Steel throws a minor fit, pounding the mat with both hands and one shiny, patriotic-patterned boot. She gets up and squares off with Teresa again, huffing and puffing her frustration.
Teresa, her breathing only slightly labored, adrenaline taking care of her sore abs, circles and smiles.
Steel feints a third lock-up and boots Teresa in the stomach.
The pain in her belly sharp but her mind still clear, Teresa reverses Steel’s attempt to whip her into the ropes…but Amy re-reserves and, rather than go for another Irish whip, runs Teresa over with a short-arm clothesline.
Sprawled and breathless on the mat, Teresa writhes and moans, trying to recover.
Steel waves her arms like an umpire calling safe.
STEEL: “This is it! Get up, bitch.”
Steel hauls Teresa to her feet by the hair and wraps her up tight in a standing octopus hold, torquing huge pressure on Teresa’s neck, shoulder and abs…all while making Salazar carry Steel’s full weight. Teresa drops to her knees and screams her submission to the referee, who calls for the bell at 3:41.
But Steel keeps the pressure on.
STEEL: “Make her submit in Spanish! (she cranks the hold) Give up in Spanish, bitch!”
The referee orders Steel to release the hold, threatening to reverse the decision, but Teresa can’t hold on. Her mind bleary with pain, she hears herself screaming "Me rindo! Vinceda! Vinceda!"
I give up. Defeated. Defeated.
Amy Steel’s record swells to 11-3. Teresa remains winless at 0-4.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Cackling, Steel releases the hold and rolls to her feet to soak in the boos — and a few cheers — from the crowd.
Teresa, in a heap, face-down on the mat, cries her pain and humiliation.
Swift announces Steel the winner, then rolls his eyes when she demands the mic from him.
Steel stands center ring, pointing at Teresa.
STEEL: “As I promised, this fence jumper was the first victim of The American Eagle submission hold. (she looks into the hard camera) There will be many more.”
In the deputy commissioner’s office…
Jules, at her perfectly sized desk in her modern, sleek office, looks up at referees Jack Blake and Jessie Motley.
JULES: “Betty Magnum’s interview is scheduled next. Jack, round up every ring attendant and tech who’s not doing something to keep us on the air and tell them I said they’re hereby deputized as security guards. We’ll show…highlights or something on the CarniTron while you get them and the rest of the refs in place.”
Blake nods.
BLAKE: “Yes, Ms. Moreno.”
He leaves. Jules turns to Motley.
JULES: “Jessie, I want you stay here with me. If something happens to Jack, I need someone I can trust to take over down there.”
The short, ponytailed ref straightens.
MOTLEY: “Yes…yes, ma’am.”
Jules sits back, rolls her eyes.
JULES: “We’re gonna have to hire some real security guards.”
In the underneath locker room…
The door opens and Teresa, holding one arm close to her body and walking gingerly, heads straight to her locker.
Cassie, on the receiving end of a playful Riley hammerlock on the mat, gets up and crosses to the lockers, her sandals still next to the mat.
CASSIE: “Hey. Shouldn’t you be with the trainer?”
Teresa doesn’t look at her.
TERESA: “I’m fine.”
CASSIE: “You’re not fine, we saw the match. Why don’t you at least let Rick check y-”
TERESA: “Cassie, we don’t even know each other. I just want to get changed, get my stuff, and get out of here.”
Teresa starts to peel out of her singlet. Cassie glances at Riley, who looks a bit galvanized, and nods toward the door.
Riley gets to her feet, slips back into her flip-flops, and goes.
Cassie moves closer to Teresa, whose singlet is down around her hips, under her slight belly.
CASSIE: “When you go, is that it for you here?”
Teresa stands up, pulls her singlet down to her knees.
TERESA: “I don’t know.”
Even in the dingy locker room’s dim light, Cassie can see it: the scar along the bottom of Teresa’s stomach, arcing from just above one hip to the other. She risks another step forward.
CASSIE: “Even if this was your last match here, can we please talk before y-”
Teresa whips the blood-red singlet off past her boots and faces Cassie in nothing but them, hands on her hips.
TERESA: “What do you fucking care?”
Cassie, her eyes as glassy as Teresa’s, lets her gaze dart briefly to the scar.
CASSIE: “How old is your child?”
Teresa wilts, drawing a hand across the scar.
TERESA: “Twenty-four.”
She fishes panties and a tee-shirt from her bag, slips them on, then sits back down and goes to work on her boot laces.
Cassie moves to within a foot of Teresa, straddles the bench, and sits.
Teresa glances at Cassie and shakes her head, smirking. She puts her boot back on the floor, untied but still on her foot. She wraps her arms around her stomach and looks at Cassie.
TERESA: “Twenty-five years ago, I was a wrestler, and I was pretty good. I wrestled out here, some in the Midwest, a bit in the northeast. I had success everywhere — won a lot more than I lost — and I grabbed a regional title in one of the Midwest feds off this vet who was probably just past her prime.”
CASSIE (smiling): “That’s awesome.”
Teresa, smirks again, shakes her head.
TERESA: “That night…that fucking night…I met this guy. We partied to celebrate my big win and…cut to the chase, I got pregnant. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, you know? (Cassie nods) He said we should get married. I said OK, we did…(she turns up her palms, elbows on her thighs) and he disappeared right after I had the baby. (she looks at Cassie, teary) My son.
Cassie smiles, a tear rolling down one cheek.
TERESA: “Raising him was the best thing I’ve ever done. We had a great time together, no matter how hard it got. He graduated high school, he went to college, (she spares Cassie a glance) He’s a mechanical engineer now. (she smiles)”
CASSIE: “That’s amazing. (she wipes at a tear) I can’t imagine how proud you must be.”
Teresa pulls her unlaced boot off, then her sock, then goes to work on the other one.
TERESA: “I am. You have no idea. I am proud. Of him. But I never stopped thinking about wrestling, you know? My son is…almost all my life. This… (she glances around them) this was the rest. This was mine.”
CASSIE: “So you came back.”
Teresa yanks off her other boot, then her other sock, and puts her feet on the cold concrete, elbows on her thighs.
TERESA: “Yeah, I came back, at 44, to the only shot I could get, an underneath-girl contract here. (She levels her gaze at Cassie) And I’m just embarrassing myself out there.”
Cassie sits up straight.
CASSIE: “No, you’re not. At all. You’re doing great so far.”
Teresa sits up straight.
TERESA: “Great? Cassie, no offense to anyone in here, but I’ve never lost four matches in a row in my life. And it’s fucking embarrassing. That girl made me beg her to lose in Spanish tonight. (she stands up, hands waving, elbows tight against her sides) No, that’s not me. It was so stupid to think I could-”
Cassie grabs one of Teresa’s hands.
CASSIE: “Do you know my history here?”
Teresa lets her arms drop to her sides. She doesn’t hold Cassie’s hand back, but she lets Cassie continue to hold hers.
TERESA: “Yeah, I asked around. You’ve had it rough. Real fucking rough, and I hate some of things I heard, but that doesn’t mean-”
CASSIE: “No, it doesn’t. (She tugs Teresa back to sit on the bench and releases her hand) If you decide you want to go, I won’t try to talk you out of it. Most of the time, this is a cruel, dark place, and it’s very hard on the women in this locker room. But whether you go or stay, you should hear someone say you are a great professional wrestler. Still. All the women you’ve lost to here — Amy Steel, Maiden, Hannah Hammer — are top title contenders in this company.
“At 44, you’re in better shape than anyone in here — except maybe Sunny (she smiles) — and you’re a better wrestler than all of us, including Sunny. (she risks taking Teresa’s hand again) If you stay, there is absolutely a path for you out of this room. Tiana Miles did it. Sunny is going to do it. And I don’t care how old you are, you can do it. On your terms. Just like you want to.”
Cassie lets go of Teresa’s hand and goes to retrieve her sandals.
TERESA: “You’re gonna make a good mother someday.”
Cassie freezes while pulling her second shoe back on, then goes back to the lockers and sits opposite Teresa.
CASSIE: “One night, right after I made the move from fetish girl to underneath girl, I ended up in the hospital for who knows what reason after my match. One thing led to another, and they told me I can’t have kids.”
TERESA: “Oh my god. Cassie. I d-”
Cassie holds up her hand, smiling softly.
CASSIE: “I have no idea if that was always the case, or if some fucking thing they did to me here ruined me somehow, but…that’s one of the reasons I’m still here. With these women. (she stands) No one knows that, not even Sunny. OK? (Teresa nods) I’ll let you finish getting dressed.”
Teresa watches Cassie go, then punches her locker door closed and puts her head in her hands.
In the arena…
The CCW corps of referees, minus Jessie Motley, and a dozen other ring attendants and techs surround the ring, with senior official Jack Blake directing their placement and vigilance.
Jimmy Swift and the timekeeper look uneasy. Blake posts himself near them.
Inside the ring, Wink McLean doesn’t look any more comfortable than anyone else. And, for maybe the first time, a few strands of his hair aren’t where they should be. Nevertheless, he draws a deep breath and starts the segment.
MCLEAN: “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome my guest at this time, the new Carnival Cavalcade Wrestling Champion, Betty…Magnum!”
McLean gestures up the aisle with a flourish, Betty’s music hits, and she appears to a huge reaction. Carrying the CCW title belt over her shoulder, Betty is all smiles and high-fives in her denim-patterned bra top, matching athletic leggings, and cowboy-style boots as she approaches the ring, but it’s clear she’s still a bit worse for the wear after the elimination match last week and the two Pack beatdowns that preceded it.
The makeshift security force parts to allow Betty up the ring steps and into the ring, where she holds the belt aloft in both hands, shows it from all four sides of the ring, then replaces it on her shoulder and shares a hearty handshake with McClean.
MCLEAN: “Betty, congratulations on your epic win last week. You got through three of the toughest women in CCW to win this brand-new championship belt, and we appreciate you taking the time to reflect on your victory with us tonight.”
The crowd cheers.
BETTY: “Thanks, Wink. I just want everyone here to know how much I appreciate the support. This title (she points to the crowd) is your title, and I’m going to be your champion. (she looks into the hard camera) I want it known, right now, Betty Magnum is going to be a fighting CCW Cha-”
The lights go out. Fear, gasps, and a maybe little anticipation, sweep the crowd.
Blake can be heard barking orders in the dark. McLean and Betty’s voices are heard, but unintelligible on the mic.
The lights flash back on.
A young woman, in the tattered remains of black wrestling gear, lies face down in the center of the ring. She is…covered in cuts, bruises, bite marks, scratches, slashes, and black writing.
Everyone in the arena gasps.
Betty drops her belt and slides on her knees to the young woman’s side.
McLean, his eyes wide on the prone girl, waves to the back, screaming for EMTs.
Referee Jack Blake tells everyone at ringside to stand fast and watch the crowd as Jimmy Swift and the timekeeper cower behind him.
In the ring, Betty gently lays a hand on the beaten girl’s back.
BETTY: “She’s breathing! McLean, gimme your jacket.”
McLean whips his tuxedo coat off and hands it to Betty, who nods at the girl.
BETTY: “Help me turn her over so I can get this on her.”
MCLEAN: “The EMTs are coming, I’m not sure we should-”
BETTY: “She’s practically naked, goddammit!”
MCLEAN: “OK…OK.”
McLean drops to his knees on the mat — trying to ignore the obscenities scrawled on the girl, as well as the gouges and bites all over her — and helps Betty ease the young woman onto her back. He gasps.
BETTY: “Oh lord…”
It’s Jessica Kelly.
Her black singlet ripped almost completely away — what’s left barely allowing even for basic modesty — one black boot missing, Jessica lies unconscious on the mat, the victim of a savage, humiliating beating. Just as her back was, Jessica’s face, neck, chest, stomach, sides, legs, and foot are covered in wounds and writing, most of it single words — Whore, Traitor, Trash — but there are two words, scrawled across Jessica’s belly, that make Betty’s eyes go wide…
For Cassie.
In the underneath locker room…
Cassie, Riley, Melora, and Tiffany are huddled around the monitor, watching what’s left of Jessica Kelly being wheeled up the aisle on a gurney.
Teresa, in street clothes, stands outside the little circle, but her eyes are riveted to the monitor.
TERESA: “Jesus Christ…”
Riley is crying. Cassie gathers her close.
CASSIE: “It’s OK, baby. She’s gonna be OK.”
Sunny bursts through the door, making a beeline for Cassie.
SUNNY: “Did you see what they fucking wrote on her?”
CASSIE: “Yes. (She hands Riley off to Melora) I’m going to the trainer’s room. I’ve got to see her.”
Sunny blocks Cassie’s path to the door.
SUNNY: “Bullshit, you are. Cass, they wrote your fucking name on her. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
CASSIE: “You have a match to wrestle.”
SUNNY: “They can ring the bell and count me out. I’m n-”
TERESA: “I’ll go. (she steps between them) I’ll watch her back.”
SUNNY: “I appreciate that, but there’s no way I’m-”
Cassie lays one hand on Sunny’s hip, the other on her cheek.
CASSIE: “Baby, go wrestle. Go win. I’ll be fine.”
Sunny kisses Cassie, holding her face with both hands, then turns to Teresa.
SUNNY: “You stay with her.”
Sunny leaves.
TERESA: “She’s gonna get killed in that match, you know?”
CASSIE: “She needs the distraction. Thanks for helping me.”
Cassie steps toward the door. Teresa grabs her wrist.
TERESA: “Until she gets back, I go where you go.”
Cassie looks from Teresa’s hand around her wrist to her eyes. She smiles.
CASSIE: “Then let’s go. (She looks to the others) Tiffany, lock the door behind us and don’t let anyone in unless you’re positive who it is.”
In the arena…
Sunny Austin is already in the ring for the next match: beautiful, barefoot, bikinied, and completely checked out, mentally and emotionally. Wiping tears out of her eyes, Sunny makes some vague attempt to focus, stretch, get ready to wrestle, compete, but her feet are flat on the mat, and her shoulders are slouched. She has no shot in this match.
The Tale of the Tape
Underneath girl Sunny Austin is 24, 5’11”, 140lbs, with blonde hair and blue eyes. Her current record is 2-11. She wrestles barefoot in an orange-and-white bikini. Hannah Hammer is a star with a 6-1 record. She is 23, 5’7”, 160lbs, with brown hair and hazel eyes. She wrestles in short denim overalls, a yellow tee, and brown work boots.
Jimmy Swift, eyes darting everywhere, introduces Hannah Hammer, who only shakes a few hands on the way to the ring and does it without any of her characteristic good humor.
Indeed, Jessica Kelly’s horrific return to the CCW Arena has cast a pall over everything. The crowd is subdued, murmuring. The ragtag security force remains in place at ringside, with referee Jessie Motley now in the ring to officiate this match.
She calls for the bell.
Hannah Hammer vs. Sunny Austin
Sunny circles, but Hannah knows within 30 seconds this isn’t the Sunny Austin who took Scarlett Jackson to the limit two weeks ago. Flat-footed, slow, Sunny throws a few probing kicks at Hannah’s legs, then gets caught between Hannah and the corner and takes a Hammer knee lift in the stomach.
Hannah pulls Sunny out of the corner and shoots her into the ropes. Sunny ducks a clothesline, hits the ropes again, and runs right into Hannah’s tilt-a-whirl Boss Man Slam.
Stunned but aware, Sunny nonetheless flops out spread-eagle and surrenders to defeat as Hannah, on one knee, lays a hand on her chest for the academic 1-2-3 at 1:03.
Hannah gets back on the winning side after her first loss last week. She’s now 7-1. Distracted, defeated, and dispatched, Sunny falls to 2-12.
The referee waits to raise Hannah’s hand as she’s announced the winner, but Hannah remains on one knee. She moves her hand from Sunny’s chest to her face, and makes sure she has the bikini girl’s attention.
HANNAH: “We’ll have a rematch when you feel up to it. I know this wasn’t you.”
Sunny sits up and gathers her knees to her chest, ankles crossed, as referee Motley raises Hannah’s hand and she gets her glory.
In the trainer’s room…
Teresa stands guard outside the door as Cassie moves into the room.
Jessica, her remaining boot removed, in a CCW tee-shirt and plain sweat shorts, lies on the exam table. She’s blinking, awake, but has a faraway look in her eye.
Cassie, trying to suppress her horror, take Jessica’s hand, carefully, and looks to the trainer.
CASSIE: “How is she, Rick?”
TRAINER: “Physically, she’ll heal. Most of the wounds on her are superficial, but I treated them topically and the doctor is going to prescribe her an antibiotic, especially for…y’know, the bites.”
CASSIE: “Jesus… (she lays a hand on Jessica’s forehead) She seems kind of…”
TRAINER: “Out of it? Yeah, she is. (he shakes his head) We had to sedate her. When she woke up, she just…flipped out. Screaming. Crying. They did a real number on her.”
CASSIE: “Well, she’s home now.”
Cassie strokes Jessica’s forehead. The trainer leans in to catch her eye.
TRAINER: “Cassie, there’s something else.”
Cassie blinks up at him.
The trainer lifts Jessica’s tee-shirt, exposing a thick, square bandage on her stomach, just above her hip crest.
TRAINER: “They used…something to mark some sort of symbol into her.”
CASSIE: “What do you mean into?”
TRAINER: “I mean…it’s burned in. They branded her. For real.”
In the arena…
Melora O’Brien is already in the ring and already sweating. It’s been five weeks since her last singles match — a loss to Hannah Hammer — and it shows on the pretty Irish girl. Her body a bit curvier, her stomach a bit more pronounced, Melora knows she looks exactly like what she is: a soft victim for the most powerful wrestler in the company.
The Tale of the Tape
Melora O’Brien, an underneath girl, is 25, 5’5”, 145lbs with red hair and green eyes. She wrestles in a green floral old-school one-piece, white knee pads, and green boots. She is currently 1-4. Towering, powerful, The Iron Maiden is 35, and 6’, 175lbs star, with dyed silver hair and gray eyes under mushroom cloud contacts. She wrestles in a black & silver, sleeveless, full-length bodysuit, a silver-studded black belt, and chunky two-tone black & silver boots. She’s 8-3.
As the final woman eliminated last week in Betty Magnum’s title victory, Maiden is in no mood for anything around her as she stomps up the ring steps and through the ropes. She gets a great reception from the recovering crowd but doesn’t acknowledge it.
Referee Randy Hickman calls for the bell.
The Iron Maiden vs. Melora O’Brien
Melora inches out of her corner, tentative, looking for a tie up. Maiden blasts her in the stomach with a boot, yanks her by the hair to the center of the ring and destroys her with the Fallout powerbomb.
Melora is barely conscious as Maiden puts four fingertips on her pale chest for the 1-2-3 at :16.
The Iron Maiden goes to 9-3 without breaking a sweat. Moaning, sweaty, hair matted to her red face, Melora is now 1-5.
Jimmy Swift announces Maiden the winner. The referee takes her wrist to raise her hand, but she pulls it away from him and points at Melora.
MAIDEN: “Make sure she’s OK.”
HICKMAN: “Yes, ma’am.”
The referee checks on Melora, whose only movement is her heaving belly, as Maiden steps through the ropes and heads up the aisle.
In the commissioner’s office…
Jules and referee Jessie Motley stand opposite Hollander’s desk. Jules, her maroon power suit and heels still immaculate despite what’s happened tonight, is nonetheless at her wit’s end.
JULES: “They branded her, Hollis. For real. The Pack took a red-hot…something and burned a symbol into Jessica Kelly’s skin. And that’s to say nothing of assaulting her with all the hands, nails, and teeth they have. (she looks from Hollander to Motley and back) This has gone way too far. Jessica is a contracted CCW wrestler. Suing us for a hostile work environment and work-related injuries is a molecule on the tip of the iceberg. These are crimes. At the bare minimum, we’re going to have to pay for a…skin graft or something to get that symbol off her.”
The commissioner rolls his eyes.
HOLLANDER: “Oh come on. Is it really that bad? The trainer said it wasn’t even that big.”
Jules slaps a framed photo of Gothica off the desk.
JULES: “Are you for real? They. Burned. Her. Either you arrange for Jessica to get that thing addressed or I’m writing a weekly $25,000 bonus into her contract and you can explain that to the board.”
HOLLANDER: “Fine, fine. (he holds up his hands in disgusted surrender) We’ll fix the little underneath girl’s boo-boo, even though she’s never drawn a rating in her life. (He holds up a hand to Jules as she quakes) I want to know what we plan to do about The Pack now that they’re starting to cost the company money.”
JULES: “First, we need some actual security guards. The referees and some crew guys aren’t enough. (she glances at Motley) No offense, Jessie.”
MOTLEY: “None taken, ma’am. It’s scary as hell out there right n-”
HOLLANDER: So, your answer is to throw more money at the problem? Typical woman.”
Jules leans both fists on the desk.
JULES: “What’s…your solution?”
The commissioner sits back, hands folded.
HOLLANDER: “I think it’s time we turned a few tables on this Pack. Referee Motley, tell Amy Steel, BRICKHOUSE, The Iron Maiden, and Hannah Hammer I want to see them immediately.”
In the arena…
The referees and crew still surround the ring, but referee Jack Blake is now in the ring to officiate the main event. Jimmy Swift is center ring to introduce it.
SWIFT: “The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is for the Tri-County…Championship!”
The Tale of the Tape
Sizzlin’ Scarlett Jackson, the challenger, is a star with a 7-1 record. She is 26, 5’5”, 130lbs, with dyed bright-orange hair and light-brown eyes. She wrestles in a shiny orange & white bra top, shiny orange booty shorts, shiny white knee pads, and orange basketball sneakers with white highlights. Anna Konda, the current Tri-County Champion, enters this match at 16-1, the best record in CCW. She is 32, 5’7”, 138lbs, with golden brown hair and light brown eyes. She wrestles in a snake-print bodysuit and ballet flats laced up her calves.
Scarlett is out first, fresh off her team’s victory over The Pack last week, which, given the last half hour or so, feels like it might make her a prime target. Jackson, normally an energetic entrance, is more subdued as she makes her way into the ring, but she’s bouncy and stretchy once she’s between the ropes.
Anna Konda makes her way to the ring with the belt around her waist over her ornate robe. She handed Hannah Hammer her first loss in a title defense last week and, as she slinks through the ropes and hands the title to referee Blake, it appears the beautiful Brazilian isn’t worried about losing the title in this match.
The referee calls for the bell.
Tri-County Championship Match
Anna Konda [c] vs. Sizzlin’ Scarlett Jackson
Fast, bobbing, weaving, and circling to start, with Scarlett and Konda creating a blur of color around the center of the ring. When they finally lock-up, a series of basic holds, reversals, counters, and dodges leads to a stand-off and applause from the crowd.
Scarlett offers her hand. Konda slaps it in a way that almost conveys respect.
They go back to work. This time, Scarlett hits a drop toehold immediately, grabs a hammerlock, then transitions into a headlock on the mat.
Konda, frustrated, pounds the mat with both hands, then, contorting, snares Scarlett with her legs and locks in a head scissor. Pivoting to her feet, Scarlett floats over forward, pops loose of the head scissors, and lands with her back on Konda’s front for a pinning combination. Referee Blake drops into position.
1…
Konda plants her feet.
2…
The Tri-County champion bridges up, turns Scarlett around, and works a backslide, putting Jackson’s shoulders on the mat.
1…
2…
Scarlett kicks out. Both wrestlers get back to their feet, and we have another standoff.
The image goes black, then bursts into static. When the static clears, we’re somewhere else.
Someplace dark and wooded…
The Pack — Pequeno Tigre, Zehra, and Gothica, who has Blonde on a short leash — are lounging on the ground. Tigre and Zehra are all scratchy and kissy with each other, while Gothica feeds Blonde cheap chocolates from a flat box.
“Where’s Brunette?” is scrawled across Blonde’s pale, rounded belly.
The camera pans left to find the Black Cloaked Figure that first appeared last week. The figure’s demonic mask is more twisted and elaborate now, with a symbol in the center of the face…
The cloaked figure raises the electrolarynx to their throat, through the mask, the voice a grating buzz.
FIGURE: “By now, Jessica is back where she belongs, with the broken and the weak. She was not suited to Pack Life. But perhaps she…will be.”
The camera pans left to reveal Chloe Suzuki, in torn ring gear — the welt on her side from her whipping at the hands of Outlaw Annie Hook raised and dark — tied to a tree at her wrists and ankles. She’s gagged with a black vinyl bikini top. “PACK Okinawan” is written on her bare stomach.
Chloe thrashes and squirms in her bonds, fingers flexing, toes digging into the dirt. The Cloaked Figure approaches her and grabs a handful of Chloe’s long, black hair.
FIGURE: “Chloe Suzuki, do you want…Pack Life?”
Screaming through her gag, Chloe, head shaking, struggles, but the ropes keep her tightly spread across the wide tree trunk.
The Cloaked Figure traces a black-gloved finger along the welt on Chloe’s side. Suzuki tries to twist away from it, but the ropes keep her in place. The Figure draws the finger across Chloe’s belly, then brings their masked face close to Chloe’s, which is red and tear soaked.
FIGURE: “Welcome to your new family, Chloe. We find you…delectable.”
The Figure steps back away from Chloe, whose eyes go wide when she sees the rest of The Pack surrounding her. They descend on screaming, struggling Chloe — scratching, biting, kissing — as The Cloaked Figure moves toward the camera until the mask fills the image.
FIGURE: “Sorry, Cassie Rae. You lost another one.”
The screen goes black, then bursts into static before it resolves.
In the arena…
Anna Konda has Scarlett Jackson on the mat in her signature sleeper hold. Scarlett’s breathing is slow, even. Her eyes flutter closed, hands useless in her lap.
Referee Blake swoops in to check Scarlett’s arm. It drops three times, and the referee signals her defeat at 7:43.
In the underneath locker room…
On the monitor, the referee is putting the Tri-County title back around Anna Konda’s waist, but no one is watching.
Cassie, Sunny, Teresa, Tiffany, Melora, and Riley all surround Jessica, asleep on an EMT gurney.
Slowly, hand shaking, Cassie lifts Jessica tee-shirt, then peels back the thick, square bandage on her stomach.
CASSIE: “Oh god…”
Burned into Jessica’s flesh, raw and red, is this…
Fade Out
